I Believed That I Identified As a Lesbian - The Music Icon Enabled Me to Realize the Actual Situation

In 2011, several years before the renowned David Bowie show debuted at the renowned Victoria and Albert Museum in the UK capital, I declared myself a homosexual woman. Until that moment, I had only been with men, including one I had wed. After a couple of years, I found myself nearing forty-five, a recently separated parent to four children, living in the US.

Throughout this phase, I had begun to doubt both my personal gender and sexual orientation, looking to find understanding.

Born in England during the dawn of the seventies era - prior to digital connectivity. When we were young, my friends and I were without Reddit or video sharing sites to consult when we had curiosities about intimacy; conversely, we turned toward pop stars, and during the 80s, everyone was challenging gender norms.

The Eurythmics singer sported male clothing, The Culture Club frontman wore girls' clothes, and bands such as Erasure and Bronski Beat featured performers who were openly gay.

I desired his narrow hips and defined hairstyle, his defined jawline and masculine torso. I aimed to personify the Berlin-era Bowie

During the nineties, I lived driving a bike and wearing androgynous clothing, but I reverted back to conventional female presentation when I opted for marriage. My partner moved our family to the America in 2007, but when the union collapsed I felt an undeniable attraction revisiting the manhood I had earlier relinquished.

Given that no one challenged norms to the extent of David Bowie, I opted to spend a free afternoon during a summer trip back to the UK at the museum, with the expectation that possibly he could provide clarity.

I didn't know precisely what I was seeking when I stepped inside the show - maybe I thought that by submerging my consciousness in the richness of Bowie's gender experimentation, I might, consequently, stumble across a hint about my true nature.

I soon found myself positioned before a modest display where the music video for "the iconic song" was playing on repeat. Bowie was moving with assurance in the foreground, looking sharp in a slate-colored ensemble, while off to one side three backing singers in feminine attire gathered around a microphone.

Differing from the performers I had witnessed firsthand, these characters failed to move around the stage with the self-assurance of born divas; instead they looked bored and annoyed. Relegated to the background, they were chewing and showed impatience at the monotony of it all.

"Those words, boys always work it out," Bowie voiced happily, appearing ignorant to their lack of enthusiasm. I felt a fleeting feeling of empathy for the backing singers, with their thick cosmetics, uncomfortable wigs and restrictive outfits.

They gave the impression of as ill-at-ease as I did in feminine attire - irritated and impatient, as if they were hoping for it all to end. Just as I recognized my alignment with three individuals presenting as female, one of them tore off her wig, removed the cosmetics from her face, and revealed herself to be ... Bowie! Shocker. (Understandably, there were further David Bowies as well.)

At that moment, I was absolutely sure that I aimed to shed all constraints and become Bowie too. I craved his slender frame and his precise cut, his defined jawline and his male chest; I wanted to embody the lean-figured, artist's Berlin phase. And yet I couldn't, because to authentically transform into Bowie, first I would require being a man.

Declaring myself as queer was a different challenge, but personal transformation was a much more frightening possibility.

I required additional years before I was ready. During that period, I did my best to become more masculine: I ceased using cosmetics and eliminated all my feminine garments, shortened my locks and started wearing male attire.

I altered how I sat, changed my stride, and modified my personal references, but I paused at medical intervention - the chance of refusal and regret had rendered me immobile with anxiety.

Once the David Bowie exhibition finished its world tour with a stint in the American metropolis, after half a decade, I went back. I had arrived at a crisis. I couldn't go on pretending to be something I was not.

Facing the identical footage in 2018, I was absolutely sure that the issue wasn't my clothes, it was my body. I wasn't simply a tomboy; I was a feminine man who'd been wearing drag since birth. I desired to change into the person in the polished attire, performing under lights, and now I realized that I could.

I booked myself in to see a physician shortly afterwards. I needed further time before my personal journey finished, but not a single concern I anticipated occurred.

I maintain many of my traditional womanly traits, so individuals frequently misidentify me for a queer man, but I accept this. I desired the liberty to play with gender as Bowie had - and now that I'm content with my physical form, I am able to.